


Eromenos

by ophelia_interrupted



Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Art, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Smut, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7344298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelia_interrupted/pseuds/ophelia_interrupted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage Hannibal's first love affair, with a young tutor at Eton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to Brigidh for betaing! Any errors are my own, of course. I did the best research I could to represent what Eton was like at the time. 
> 
> Hannibal/Alec is 16 in this story, which may or may not make him underage according to your location and beliefs. Sixteen is the age of consent where I live, so I went with it.
> 
> Illustrations are by the wonderfully talented PassionateShadow. To see more of his work, and check out his commission information, see "PassionateShadow" on deviantart dot com.

_ _

_Eton, England, 1806_

            Sixteen-year-old Alec Stuart sat on a table in the decrepit Christopher Inn, reeling off a sparkling English country dance on his violin.  Some of his fellow Etonians danced with town girls, while others were content to throw bread balls and small rocks at each other and him.  A pretty, pink-cheeked farmer’s daughter sashayed into the midst of the boys, and began a sprightly solo dance.  Alec made shy eyes at her, and she responded by lifting her skirts just enough to show off her well-turned ankles.  The boys howled, thumped Alec on the back, and several of them looked to be about to get in a fight over who got the right of the first dance with the young lady.

            A taller, broader-shouldered figure detached himself from the throng of boys, and bowed politely to the girl.  Alec recognized the newcomer as the young tutor, Michael Overbrook, who was privately engaged to teach Latin and Greek to the thoroughly-unpleasant Pouncey brothers.  Overbrook took the girl’s hand, amidst boos from the boys, and she smiled brightly up at him.  The two of them whirled into the group of dancers.  Balls of bread, fragments of cheese, and rocks rained down upon the couple, who continued to dance, gazing into one another’s eyes, oblivious. 

            Alec had known for some time that he was inclined toward boys as well as girls, and he’d been sighing after Overbrook since he had arrived at Eton at the beginning of the Lent Half in January.  As far as he could tell, the young man was barely aware of his existence, and a familiar feeling of heartache came over him.  With no other outlet for the emotion, he wove it into his music, shifting into a minor key and giving the jig a longing, plaintive air. 

            When the music spun to a close, Bob Kendal, the Christopher’s owner, came over with a tankard of foaming ale and set it in front of Alec, shooing off the grabbing hands of the boys who wanted to snatch it for themselves.  More people came into the Inn when Alec was playing, and so Kendal rewarded him with drinks.  Alec picked up the tankard and half-drained it at one pull.  It wasn’t particularly against the college rules for schoolboys to drink, but the masters would punish them if they were found wandering about obviously drunk.  Alec got in trouble for that on a semi-regular basis, which had earned him his school nickname of “Tosspot.” 

            He pulled his watch out of his pocket and glanced at it, finding the time to be a quarter to six in the evening.  He decided that he had time to play one more dance before the boys had to assemble at six, and started into a reel.  By the time he was finished it was five minutes to the hour, and he got up, downed the rest of his drink, and began packing up his violin.  All around him boys were heading for the exit, all except for the few still-drinking die-hards who liked to swear that they didn’t care if they got beaten for lateness.  Some of these called for Alec to stay, but he just smiled and shook his head.  A sensitive boy, he cared very much if he got beaten.  Birchings hurt and were humiliating, and they left him miserable afterward. 

            He was hurrying for the door when someone put a hand on his shoulder.  He turned, and to his surprise he found Overbrook standing there.  “You play absolutely beautifully,” the young man said.

            Suddenly awkward, Alec ducked his head and smiled shyly up at him.  “Thank you, sir,” he said quietly.

            “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’” Overbrook said.  “It’s just ‘Michael.’”

            “All right . . . Michael,” Alec said.  The name sounded strange to his ears.  Nobody went by his Christian name at Eton.  Everybody was either called by his surname, or by a nickname, like “Tosspot.”

            “I’d love it if you’d come play for me on Saturday at four,” Michael said.  “I board over at Mrs. Combes’.  All I do from between four and six is correct the Pouncey boys’ exercises, and it’s phenomenally boring.  Some company would be very welcome.  I’d make it worth your while, of course.”  He held out a tin flask, and Alec accepted it gingerly.  He took out the stopper and sniffed the neck.  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—cheap gin, probably—but he was pleasantly surprised to catch the scent of sherry.  He took a deep drink, and then another, before handing it back.

            Michael shook the much-lightened flask and laughed.  “I suppose this is why they call you ‘Tosspot.’”

            “I suppose it is,” Alec agreed with a smile. 

            “Will you come?” Michael asked.

            Alec nodded.  Someone shouted to him, and he turned to find the last of the sensible boys exiting the inn.  “I have to go.”

            “Of course.  Off with you now, and see you on Saturday,” Michael said.

            “See you then,” Alec said, and turned away.  He pelted over the bridge back to the college as the slightly-off-key clock tower started to chime, praying the masters would be lenient with a boy who came dashing into the yard at six.  Despite his worry, he couldn’t keep a delighted grin off his face. 

            The next Saturday, promptly at four, Alec knocked on the door to Mrs. Combes’ boardinghouse.  It was a rather run-down affair, covered in flaking white-wash, and nobody had washed the street mud off the front steps in a while.  When the stout and slightly pop-eyed Mrs. Combes answered the door, Alec said, “I’ve come to see Overbrook.”

            The lady looked him up and down, taking in his youth and fashionable clothes.  “You’re out of bounds, boy,” she said.

            It was technically against the rules for Eton boys to be off the college grounds, but masters tended to look the other way in the case of older boys.  Mrs. Combes would doubtless know this—presumably she just didn’t want to be burdened with a strange adolescent in her house.  “I know, ma’am, but Overbrook asked me to play for him,” Alec said, holding out his violin case as proof. 

            Mrs. Combes gave him a fishy look, but then seemed to allow that a boy who played the violin might be civilized.  “All right, come in, then,” she said, a bit grudgingly.

            Alec followed her into the dimness of the front hall, where Mrs. Combes stood at the foot of a steep set of stairs and shouted up, “Overbrook!  Some boy here to see you.”

            “All right, Mrs. Combes, one moment!” came Michael’s voice from the top of the stairs.  He came trotting down them shortly, looking very handsome in a fair-haired, fresh-faced sort of way.  His clothes, despite being slightly threadbare and out-of-fashion, had plainly been cut for him, and they showed his athletic figure to good advantage.  “Welcome, Alec.  It is Alec, isn’t it?” Michael asked, holding out his hand.

            Alec shook it, and said, “It is.”  It felt nice to be addressed as something other than “Stuart” or “Tosspot.”

            “Mrs. Combes, could you send us up some hot water for tea?” Michael asked.

            The landlady made a disapproving sound, but said, “I’ll send the girl.”

            She stumped away, and Michael led Alec up the stairs and down a hall to a tiny, shabbily-furnished bedroom.  The bedclothes were coarse and drab and the small desk was badly banged-up, but on the desk’s surface sat a very nice little porcelain tea service, painted with garlands of roses. 

            Alec gently picked up a cup.  The dim light from the window was just strong enough to show the shadow of his thin fingers through the bone-china surface.  “It’s very pretty,” he said.  “My grandparents had a set like this.  It got thrown out after my uncle used it and swore he came down poisoned.  I don’t see how that could be the tea set’s fault, but somehow no one wanted to drink from it after that.”

            “Yes, I can imagine the reluctance.  This one was my sister’s . . . before.  Our father has had some trouble with his business.  Bad investments, I’m afraid.  That’s how I went from being a Cambridge scholar to being tutor to those two monstrous Pouncey boys.”  He spoke lightly, as if the matter scarcely concerned him, but Alec could see the sadness in his cornflower-blue eyes. 

            “I’m sorry to hear it,” Alec said quietly.

            “Thank you, Alec.  I’m sure your music will help me forget all about it.  Oh, here,” he added, taking his flask out of his pocket and handing it to the boy. 

            To Alec’s delight, it was full.  He unstoppered it and held it up to Michael in a toast.  “ _Propino tibi salutem!_ ” he said brightly, and knocked back a conspicuous amount of the sweet, burning sherry. 

            “Tosspot indeed,” said Michael, shaking his head, although he sounded more amused than disapproving.  “Do you know any Vivaldi?”

            By way of answer, Alec perched on a chair, his legs folded tailor-wise under him, and launched into the opening bars of _Spring._   Despite having asked for company while he corrected exercises, Michael just sat on the bed, his hands in his lap, listening while Alec played.  The boy looked up periodically, meeting Michael’s gaze.  Each time, the young man looked smilingly into his eyes.  Alec wanted to look back, but he inevitably felt a stab of shyness and looked away. 

            Eventually, Michael got up and stood behind Alec, and began gently playing with the boy’s dark hair.  It sent a jolt of excitement through Alec’s body, but he didn’t know how to react, so he just kept on playing.  As he came to the music’s end, Michael bent down and gave him a tender kiss on the back of his neck. 

            Alec stiffened, completely unsure of how to respond.  “Did you dislike that?” Michael asked, his fingers still resting in Alec’s hair. 

            The boy shook his head.  “No—I . . . it was nice.  I just . . .”  Alec felt himself flush deeply.

            “Have you never been kissed before?” Michael asked.

            “Well . . . I . . . girls, yes,” Alec said.  He’d gotten himself in trouble a number of times for stealing kisses with girls at his parents’ dance parties, or occasionally with the maidservants. 

            “But never by a man,” Michael said.

            “No,” the boy said, feeling breathless.

            “Would you like to be?”

            Alec could feel his heart hammering in his chest.  His first thought was _Yes, yes, and yes,_ but then it suddenly occurred to him what would happen if anyone found out.  Michael would certainly be sacked, and Alec himself would be beaten at best, expelled at worst.  And then there was what his family would say . . . he had heard the choice comments his mother had made about his Uncle Diogenes, when she didn’t think that Alec could hear her.  But then, how likely was it that anyone would find out?  Nobody else was here.  His desire warred with his anxiety, until he finally swallowed past a tight feeling in his throat and said, “I think . . . I think I would.” 

            “I’m glad,” Michael said softly, “because I very much want to kiss you.”  He walked around until he was facing Alec, and then tilted the boy’s chin up with his fingers.  Alec allowed his eyes to fall closed as Michael bent down and lightly caressed his lips with his own.  Alec felt an electric-like jolt run through his body, and he kissed Michael back, tentatively at first, but then with growing hunger.  Michael’s tongue sought the parting between Alec’s lips, and the boy opened his mouth.  The last time he’d kissed anyone that passionately had been a second-cousin behind a fold of curtain at a party of his parents’.  His mother had caught him, hauled him into another room, and slapped him hard. 

            That unfortunate memory left him wary of losing himself too much in a kiss, and that saved him.  There was a creak of floorboards outside the door, and Alec abruptly jerked away from Michael.  The young man was just straightening up when the door opened.  A young maidservant walked in with a kettle of hot water.  She stopped in the middle of the floor, looking at Alec and Michael, and then awkwardly said, “Oh, sir . . . I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

            Michael straightened his waistcoat and said coolly, “Of course not.  What would you be interrupting?”

            “Yes sir,” the girl said, looking acutely uncomfortable.  “I’ll just be pouring the water then, sir.”

            “Yes, do that,” said Michael.  As the girl filled the teapot, Alec feigned being extremely interested in tuning his violin. 

            Once the maid had left, the boy looked up and met Michael’s eyes, and both of them laughed with giddy relief that the interruption hadn’t been worse.  Alec took a stiff drink from the flask.  “Well, that was close,” Michael said.  “Stupid of me.”  He picked up a key from the desk, walked over to the door and locked it.  “There.  That should help.”

            By this point Alec was starting to feel a bit intoxicated, and therefore braver.  He held out his hand to Michael, who took it and raised it to his lips.  “Shall we pick up where we left off?” Michael asked. 

            “Oh, yes.”

            “Let’s get this out of the way, then,” Michael said, gently taking Alec’s violin from him and setting it on the desk.  He went over to the bed and patted the spot next to him.  Alec went to him and sat down, and allowed himself to be gathered into a warm embrace.  Michael kissed him softly, languidly, taking his time.  Alec kissed him back with increasing intensity, allowing himself to make quiet noises of pleasure as Michael responded. 

            After a few minutes of this, Michael put his hands on Alec’s shoulders and gently pushed him down on the bed.  He lay next to the boy and began to kiss him again, running his fingers through Alec’s dark, straight hair.  “So lovely,” he whispered, his lips brushing up against Alec’s. 

            As Alec continued to take swigs from the flask, he grew drunker and more pliant.  Soon, kissing turned to fondling.  Michael rubbed the boy’s aching erection through the fabric of his trousers, and Alec thrust his hips up against the young man’s hand in mounting excitement.  Finally, Michael began to undo the buttons of his trousers flap, saying, “We wouldn’t want you to soil your clothes, would we?”  He gently pulled down the front of Alec’s drawers, freeing his dark and swollen cock. 

            “Stroke it, sweetheart, while I watch,” Michael said.  “I’ve dreamed of seeing you do that.”

            The request rather embarrassed Alec, and if he’d been less drunk, he would have refused.  As things were, he was very excited and very tipsy, and so he wrapped his hand around his shaft and began to pump furiously.

            “Not like that!” Michael exclaimed.  “Is that how you love yourself?  You look like you’re trying to scour paint off a pole.” 

            “It’s how I’ve always done it,” Alec said, a little puzzled. 

            “Are you trying to finish as fast as possible?” Michael asked him.  Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he asked, more gently, “Have you been caught at it?”

            Alec looked away, too embarrassed to answer. 

            “Did they punish you?” Michael asked sympathetically.

            Alec didn’t reply, trying to get the humiliating memories out of his head.

            “Ah.  Adults can be so cruel to young boys.  Girls, too.  No wonder you stroke yourself like you’re trying to get it over with quickly.  Here . . . I’ll show you how I want you to do it from now on.  Consider it an assignment.  Tonight in bed, I want you to touch yourself like this.”  He wrapped his hand around Alec’s cock and began to stroke it firmly, but very gently.  Now and again he ran his fingers over the head, massaging the most sensitive part of Alec’s erection. 

            The boy struggled to be quiet as waves of pleasure washed through him, but he couldn’t help making a few soft moans.  “Hush,” Michael whispered tenderly.  Alec bit his lip.  Soon he was unable to keep still, squirming against the bed covers as Michael caressed him.  “Doesn’t that feel better than scrubbing at yourself?” Michael asked.  Alec nodded.

            “Now,” Michael continued, “here’s something you’re _really_ going to like.”  He bent down and lightly kissed the tip of Alec’s cock.  Used to rough and desperate self-pleasuring, Alec had never felt anything so wonderful in his life, and he couldn’t help but cry out quietly.  Michael handed him a pillow, and said, “If you must make noise, make it into that.”  Alec seized the pillow and held it over his face hard enough that he half smothered.

            Michael resumed his gentle kissing and licking, which felt so extremely good that Alec had to periodically remind himself to breathe.  At last Michael took Alec into his mouth and ran his tongue over and around the head.  The boy tipped his hips up, trying to push deeper, and then to his great disappointment Michael withdrew.  He rested his hands on Alec’s pelvic bones, pressing his backside against the mattress.  “No thrusting, love.  I’m not a professional,” Michael said.  “Hold as still as you can.”

            “Sorry,” Alec said breathlessly, and he did everything he could to remain motionless as Michael began to suck him again.  It didn’t take very long before he was on the knife’s edge of ecstasy, and then a soft flick of Michael’s tongue pushed him over the precipice.  Alec cried out into the pillow as pleasure took him. 

            He continued to make soft, semi-involuntary noises as Michael pulled the pillow back and kissed him, tasting the salt-bitter musk of his own come.  When Alec was finally able to settle back onto the bed, Michael took him in his arms, his head resting in the hollow of the tutor’s shoulder.  Drunk and sated, the boy grew very sleepy. 

             “Would you hold me while I finish myself off?” Michael asked.  “You don’t have to do anything.  I just want you here.” 

            Alec kissed him drowsily in reply.  Michael undid the front of his trousers and took his erection out.  The boy felt his lover’s body tense slightly as Michael began stroking himself.  Alec slid his hand down Michael’s front and then gently began to tease him.  The young man breathed out a sigh and rolled over slightly to give Alec better access.  “Well, you’re a quick learner,” Michael chuckled, as the boy pleasured him the way he had been instructed to please himself. 

            Before long, Michael shuddered, crying out softly between his teeth, and hot liquid spilled over Alec’s hand.  They kissed furiously, and after an awkward moment of cleanup, Alec was back being cuddled in Michael’s arms.  He dozed off, unable to remember when he’d last been so happy. 

            Michael let him sleep for about half an hour, and then woke him and got some tea in him to help sober him up.  He let Alec keep the half-empty flask of sherry on the condition that the boy drink no more of it that evening.  Alec played his violin for him for a little while, looking up at his older friend with frank adoration.  Then, as six o’clock was drawing near, Michael gave him one last deep kiss, and unlocked the door.  He walked the boy downstairs and opened the front door for him.  “Do you think you could come back on Tuesday?” he asked in a studiedly offhanded way.  Tuesday was the next day on which Alec would have the hours between four and six to himself.

            Alec smiled up at him and said, “I’ll be sure of it,” before turning and heading out into the street.  He skipped half the way back to school, joyful in the knowledge that he had finally succeeded in getting himself well and thoroughly seduced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Propino tibi salutem -- I drink to your health!


	2. Chapter 2

 

           Tuesday proved to be a difficult day.  Alec had had too much to drink at the Christopher the evening before, and in an attempt to ease his hangover tried to snitch some of the brandy his tutor kept for “medicinal purposes.”  He’d done it before, but this time he timed it badly and got caught.  He was sent up to the headmaster for a beating, which was administered, as usual, in the library within sight of all the other boys who had misbehaved that day.  Alec bore up under it as well as he could while there were people watching, but once he’d been allowed to go, he secreted himself in an obscure corner to rub his backside and cry. 

            He was still feeling dejected when he went to knock on Mrs. Combes’ door.  Michael noticed immediately, and as soon as they were in his room with the door locked, he asked Alec what was wrong.  Too ashamed to meet his gaze, Alec picked at a loose thread in his cuff as he told him what had happened. 

            “You silly boy . . . whatever possessed you to do a thing like that?” Michael asked, although he softened the chiding by sitting down on his bed and pulling Alec into his lap. 

            “I’m an idiot,” Alec said wretchedly.  “A complete waste of breath and shoe leather.”

            “ _Cuiusvis hominis est errare,_ ” Michael said gently, and gave him a kiss on the temple.  He patted Alec on the small of his back and asked, “Are you still sore?”

            “Yes,” the boy said unhappily. 

            “Take down your trousers, then.  I want to give you kisses.”

            “On my—you want to kiss my arse?” Alec asked, half laughing in surprise.

            “That’s exactly what I want to do, and I promise you you’ll like it, too.”

            “If you say so,” Alec said skeptically.  He stood and took off his coat, then in a motion that unfortunately reminded him of the punishment he was trying to forget, lowered his trousers and drawers to his knees. 

            “Lie on the bed, belly down,” Michael said, and Alec obeyed.  Michael got on the bed on his hands and knees beside him, and then bent to gently kiss Alec’s behind.  “You have the dearest little bottom,” Michael said between kisses.  “Round and firm as a double peach.  I can’t see how Goodall finds it in himself to whack it.”

            “Somehow he manages,” Alec said glumly.  He soon found himself very much liking Michael’s attentions, however, especially when he lightly ran the tip of his tongue over the sensitive skin at the tops of Alec’s thighs. 

            Michael cupped one of Alec’s cheeks with his hand, and caressed the welted and scratched skin with his thumb.  Then the young man leaned back and gave him an all-over stroking with both hands.  His fingertips ran along the edge of the cleft in Alec’s bottom, and from there down to his inner thighs.  Alec spread his legs a bit, to give Michael better access to his most tender parts.  One of Michael’s fingers slipped in between Alec’s cheeks, and he slid it upward until he reached the nether entrance to Alec’s body.  The boy didn’t know what to think about being touched there, and his body tensed. 

            “Relax,” Michael said, giving him a pat on the behind.  “This will feel good.”

            “You don’t have to--” Alec stammered.

            “You think I don’t want to?  You think it’s a chore for me to stroke your little _annulus_?” Michael asked.  “It’s not.  It’s something I’m going to enjoy very much.  Although it’ll probably feel better for you if I use a little oil.”  He got up and pulled a small, squat black bottle from inside the room’s battered armoire.  He settled himself back on the bed, and Alec heard the slick sound of Michael rubbing his oiled fingers together.  Michael used the tip of one finger to rub around and around the boy’s opening, and Alec found he was right—it did feel very good. 

            Flustered that being touched in such an embarrassing place should be so pleasurable, Alec asked, “Why—how come that feels . . . the way it does?”

            “Because, sweet one, boys were made to be loved from behind.  I’ll show you proof if you don’t believe me.”  Michael entered Alec with a finger.  The boy tensed up again, sure he didn’t want that sensation, but Michael stroked his behind and his thighs with his free hand, and said again soothingly, “Relax.”

            Alec complied, trying to trust his lover, for all that he couldn’t escape the feeling that they were doing something dirty and unnatural.  After a few moments of internal stroking, Michael worked two fingers inside of him.  As he did so, Alec had to concede that the sensation was nice, although it embarrassed him to admit it.  Then Michael began rubbing deeper inside him, and all of a sudden pleasure arced through his body like a lightning bolt.  Alec gasped, and Michael laughed softly.

            “You thought I wasn’t serious, didn’t you?  The Almighty really did make boys’ bottoms for loving.”  He continued to caress that electric spot inside Alec again and again, until the boy was all but whimpering for release.  “Do you think you can come from this alone, or would you like me to stroke you in front, too?”

            “I don’t know,” Alec gasped.  He was feeling terribly out of his depth, struggling to reconcile all the disgusting things he’d been told about buggery with the reality that penetration felt like _this_. 

            “Up on your knees, then,” said Michael, and stopped the stroking long enough for Alec to change positions.  Once Alec was on his knees and elbows and Michael was kneeling next to him, the tutor went back to work inside his young lover with one hand, and with the other he began rubbing Alec’s cock.  The boy was immediately wrapped up in so much pleasure, both before and behind, that he didn’t know what to do with himself.  He wanted to move backward, to take Michael’s fingers in deeper, and at the same time he wanted to thrust forward into his fist.  He ended up moving in each direction alternately, trying to clamp down on the soft cries in his throat.

            “If you need to make noise, remember to make it into the pillow,” Michael told him.  Alec held the pillow hard up against his face, just as a seed of ultimate sweetness began to burn in his loins.  It expanded rapidly as a wildfire, soon taking him in its gasping, shuddering grip.  He cried out into the pillow again and again, his breath ragged.  At last he released the remaining air in his lungs in something like a whimper.  He felt absolutely wrung out, like a rag that had been put through a mangle. 

            Michael wiped his hands on a handkerchief and then cuddled Alec close, lying down next to him and pressing him in his arms.  They kissed fiercely, which scarcely allowed Alec to catch his breath.  When the boy could finally speak, he found he didn’t have the words to express his feelings, so he quoted Shakespeare: “ _My bounty is as boundless as the sea/ My love as deep; the more I give to thee, / The more I have, for both are infinite._ ”

            “And I’m very quickly falling in love with you, my Alec,” Michael said.  “Such a precious boy.”

            “I want to do something for you,” Alec said.  “I want to make you feel the way you’ve made me feel.  Show me how to make love to you.”

            Michael smiled.  “I don’t know that there’s any special trick to it,” he said.  “And you certainly don’t have to do anything for me.  I got sufficient delight in making you come as hard as you did.  But if you really wanted to do something . . . I suppose you could suck me.  I’m awfully partial to that.”

            “ _Ere I learn love, I'll practice to obey,_ ” Alec said cheerfully.  He got up and struggled his way out of his trousers and drawers, which had half-entangled him, then sat on the edge of the bed and began undoing Michael’s trousers.  His lover was plainly very hard beneath the fabric.  Alec reached down into Michael’s linen smallclothes and drew out his cock.  He rubbed it with his hand for a bit, gently, as Michael had shown him how to do, and then took up a position on his knees on the bed.  He bent down and began kissing his way along the shaft.  It had a musky, male smell to it that Alec found very arousing.  When he got to the tip, he ran his tongue around the under-ridge of the head, as Michael had done for him, and was rewarded with a soft groan.  He took the pulsing erection in his mouth, tasting the saltiness of pre-come, which was startling, but not unpleasant.  Alec shifted around so that he was rubbing the head of Michael’s cock against the roof of his mouth.  He did his best to make sure his teeth didn’t snag the smooth, loose skin of the shaft. 

            “Here . . .” Michael said, and sat up long enough to take Alec’s hand and wrap it around the base of his cock.  Belatedly, the boy remembered that Michael had done the same for him when their places had been reversed.  Alec worked to keep his hands and his mouth performing in tandem, which turned out to be harder than he’d expected.  He soon discovered that giving oral sex was not a terribly comfortable affair, physically, but he loved feeling Michael gasp and sigh under him, and the way the young man’s muscles tensed and relaxed under his stroking hand. 

            When Michael came he gave a stifled cry, and suddenly Alec’s mouth was full of slick, salty liquid.  He thought Michael had swallowed when it was Alec’s turn, so he swallowed Michael’s come, for all that he didn’t much enjoy tasting that much saltiness.  He lay down beside Michael and kissed him deeply.  Michael responded by crushing Alec’s body to him and running his hand through his hair.  They napped for a short while until it was time for Alec to go. 

            Had the boy not already been beaten once that day he might have been tempted to linger, but as it was, he stood at the door of Michael’s room and kissed him until he dared not stay any longer.  “Saturday?” said Michael huskily as Alec backed away reluctantly.

            The boy nodded.  Then he turned and rattled down the stairs and darted out the door into the street. 

            On Tuesdays and Saturdays for the rest of the term, Alec visited Michael.  They kissed and made love, and Michael cuddled Alec in his lap while he read aloud from books of racy Latin poetry that they never gave schoolboys to translate.  Sometimes Alec played the violin for his lover, and Michael allowed him to have as much sherry as he liked. 

            The other boys began to gossip, of course.  The Pouncey brothers openly accused Alec of letting Michael bugger him, but he just laughed and shrugged, as if the accusation was the most ridiculous thing in the world.  In any case, Michael never had truly buggered him.  It was something that Alec wasn’t sure he’d like, and his lover hadn’t pressed him on the point.  A couple of the masters advised Alec to stop spending so much time at Mrs. Combes’ house.  They told him to play more sports in the strengthening spring sunshine with the other boys.  They didn’t seem overly put out when he demurred, however.  Alec overheard one telling the other that boys developed fixations of varying types, sometimes with their tutors or masters.  The man was of the opinion that Alec’s attachment to Michael would soon be over as quickly as it had begun. 

            All too soon the term was over and Alec had to face going home for a month.  He clung to Michael at the thought, and, in between kisses, Michael promised to write him.  Alec generally only went all the way back to Ireland at Christmas.  During other school holidays he stayed at the Stuarts’ townhouse in London.  Somewhat to his surprise, he found Uncle Diogenes had joined the rest of the family there. 

            Diogenes was seldom at home, however, and Alec soon gathered that he had returned to England to spend time with a “very good friend.”  Alec rather desperately wanted to ask him questions about how adult men carried on relationships with their “very good friends,” as well as about why men’s bodies seemed built to respond to penetration the way they did, among other things that only an adult man of unorthodox preferences could answer.  Unfortunately, during the few times Diogenes was home, he was distant and preoccupied, as well as rather drowsy-dull from the kif he liked to smoke. 

            Alec finally got a chance to talk to him over a chess game they played one night, after the rest of the Stuart clan had blessedly gone to bed.  Diogenes was winning handily—being an extremely sharp chess player, even when he was moon-faced on kif.  They’d been staring at the chess board for some time waiting for Alec to make his move.

            “Do take your time, my dear boy,” said Diogenes, pointedly winding his watch. 

            “Sorry, Uncle . . . I’m just having trouble keeping my mind on the game.  There’s . . . I wanted to ask you something.  Or at least tell you something.”

            “And what is that?” Diogenes asked, tucking his watch back in his pocket. 

            Feeling his face flush with anticipatory embarrassment, Alec gathered up his courage and said, “I’ve fallen in love.”

            “Oh, happy day.  What an achievement,” Diogenes said, slapping the armrests of his chair.  “I’ve surely never heard of another sixteen-year-old boy who fell in love.  However did this miracle happen?”

            Ignoring his uncle’s sarcasm, Alec said, “With a young man.”

            Diogenes’ expression changed, becoming more solemn.  “Ah, I see.  Well, that _is_ a surprise.  To hear your mother talk, you think of nothing but girls.”

            “I like girls too,” Alec said.  “I just happen to have fallen in love with a boy.”

            “And does this boy return your tender feelings?” Diogenes asked.

            “He does.”

            “Aha.  And I suppose the thing you want to ask me is how you’re supposed to survive the next year and a half at Eton with a secret male lover.  I’ll give you the answer: I don’t know.  Both you and your _innamorato_ are courting expulsion, of course, with the attendant family shame and blighted career aspirations.  I don’t suppose your friend had the foresight to be born the eldest son of a peer, did he?”

            “He didn’t,” Alec said.

            “Well then, this affair is considerably more dangerous for him than it is for you.  You should count yourself fortunate.”

            Exasperated, Alec asked, “Can’t you tell me anything that will help?”

            “Help your union with this boy become safe, or wise, or anything but the most desperate kind of secret?  No, I can’t.  Do you think I’d be living my life the way I do if I had that kind of knowledge?” Diogenes asked.

            “You’ve always seemed happy to me,” Alec said.

            “Happiness lies in managing expectations, young Alec.  And, in your case and mine, a tremendous amount of discretion.  Has it ever occurred to you that this boy or his family might undertake it to blackmail you?”

            “He wouldn’t!” Alec exclaimed, offended.  

            “Spoken like every future blackmail target in history.  Take my advice, boy, and tell no one else about this.  You have no friends when it comes to this sort of thing.  I wish you hadn’t told _me_.  Other than that, I can give you no better advice than to tell you to enjoy this while it lasts, but prepare yourself for heartbreak.”

            Discouraged, Alec found he had nothing to say to that. 

            Alec spent the rest of the school holidays being dragged about as escort to his mother and sisters as they made the rounds of the London social season.  Michael did write him, and though Alec desperately wanted to keep the letters for re-reading, he didn’t dare.  Some of his siblings were not at all above rifling through his things, to say nothing of the servants.  So he did what he could to commit the letters to memory, and then he burned them.  Some nights he was completely unable to sleep for longing for his love, and on those nights he sat up in the parlor downstairs, his legs folded tailor-wise beneath him, and played on his violin those songs that Michael most liked to hear. 

            He was very relieved when it was time to go back to school. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Cuiusvis hominis est errare -- "Any man can make a mistake." Latin proverb.
> 
> My bounty is as boundless as the sea,  
> My love as deep; the more I give to thee,  
> The more I have, for both are infinite. --Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet"
> 
> Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. --Shakespeare, "The Comedy of Errors"


	3. Chapter 3

            Alec and Michael immediately resumed their visiting schedule of four to six on Tuesdays and Saturdays, but Alec found that he wanted more time with his love.  He pined on the five days a week during which he couldn’t see Michael, and his tutor often beat him across the palms of his hands for not paying attention during lessons. 

            One afternoon, as Alec and Michael lay post-coitally in one another’s arms, Alec brought up a plan he’d been developing.  “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could lie with one another all night?” he asked dreamily.

            Michael kissed him and said, “Absolutely.”

            “Well, why don’t we?” Alec turned over, resting his chin against his hand.  “I couldn’t come here, but you could come to my boardinghouse.  We could make it seem like you were just visiting.  Then you could hide in my room when Mrs. Detherage locks us in at night, and slip out in the morning.”

            “Don’t you think someone would notice that I came into the house but never left?” Michael asked.

            “Not if we pick the right night.  Next Saturday is the Feast of St. Philip and St. James.  We get the whole day off, and in the morning boys are going to leave the house early to go hunting flowering branches for the windows.  There’ll be more than enough confusion to conceal the fact that you’re staying the night.”

            Michael was silent for some time, thinking.  “It would be dangerous.”

            “Not _that_ dangerous,” Alec said.  “You should see the things that go on in Mrs. Detherage’s after lock-in.  She retires to her room at nine o’clock with her laudanum, and we don’t see her until the next morning.”

            “What about the other boys?  Won’t they come poking around, if something piques their curiosity?”

            “They’re too busy gambling—and drinking, if they can get the gin.”

            “Locked in with a bunch of drunken, gaming schoolboys.  What a night that would make,” Michael said, although the corner of his mouth quirked up. 

            “At least think about it?” Alec said, resting his head against the hollow of Michael’s shoulder.

            The young man wrapped his arm around him, making Alec feel warm and safe.  “I’ll think about it.”

            In the end, Michael agreed to try it.  He came to Mrs. Detherage’s on Friday afternoon, ostensibly to have tea with Alec in his room.  At first the other boys were interested in what he was doing there, and there was much banging on the door, but after a while they seemed to accept Michael as just another guest.  When the boys were at supper, Michael remained in Alec’s room, using the boy’s key to lock himself in.  Much as Alec wanted to rush back to his room to see him after supper, he knew he had to keep up the appearance that it was an ordinary night.  He played several hands of lansquenet with some other boys, deliberately losing badly, and then feigned to give up in disgust.  Nobody stopped him as he wandered back to his room.

            Alec scratched at the door, which was his and Michael’s pre-arranged signal that he had returned, and his lover opened it.  Alec slipped inside, and Michael immediately pressed him back against the door paneling, giving him deep, passionate kisses.  When they surfaced for air, Alec took a moment to turn and lock the door again. 

            “I brought you something,” said Michael, and he took his flask out of his pocket.  This time it was plum brandy, and Alec drank from it like a dying man drinking the water of life.  “Don’t drink the whole thing at once,” teased Michael, and gave him a love-tap on the seat of his trousers. 

            “It’s so good, though,” said Alec, and hiccupped.  Michael took the flask from him and set it on Alec’s desk.  The young man went and sat down on the bed, and held his hands out to Alec.  “Come here,” he said gently.  “Come to me.” 

            Alec climbed up onto the bed and curled like a child in Michael’s arms.  They kissed, and then Michael lay Alec down onto the bed.  He lay on top of the boy, and they kissed some more.  Between caresses, Alec asked, “Michael?”

            “Hmm?” Michael replied, kissing him under his jaw, and down to the pit of his throat.

            “I want you to bugger me tonight.”

            Michael lifted his head and looked into Alec’s dark eyes.  “Are you sure?  I thought that frightened you.”

            “I should try it sooner or later, shouldn’t I?” Alec asked.  “I mean, every boy’s got to have a first time, doesn’t he?” 

            Michael smiled.  “If that’s what you want.  I’ll promise I’ll be very gentle.”

            As he fell to kissing Alec’s throat again, the boy began to recite a poem he’d memorized for the occasion: “ _Nox mihi prima venit! primae da tempora nocti!/ Longius in primo, Luna, morare toro . . ._ ”

            Michael laughed softly, and said, “Hush, love.  Remember we have to be quiet, or your first night will be shorter than you hoped.”

            Alec’s answer was a soft sigh. 

            From kissing they fell to undressing one another, leaving their clothes in a mingled heap on the floor.  At last they lay naked, Alec on top of Michael, erection pressed against erection.  Alec ground his hips against his lover’s, relishing the pleasurable sensations that came from that action. 

             “Here, let me show you something,” Michael whispered, and stretched his hand out for the small black satchel he’d brought with him.  Alec got off him long enough to let him rummage for whatever he was seeking.  Michael withdrew his oil bottle from the bag and poured some of the liquid into the palm of his hand.  He laved this over Alec’s cock, stroking him until the organ was completely covered.  For his part, Alec fell gasping onto the bed, his head tipped back.  Next Michael covered his own cock in oil, and then rubbed the slick substance between his own and his lover’s upper thighs.  Then he mounted Alec, using one hand to work each one’s cock between the other’s legs.  “This is the respectable way that the Greeks made love to their boys,” he said softly. 

            “I’m glad that at least someone considers me respectable,” Alec whispered back.

            The two of them kissed deeply as they continued to thrust between one another’s thighs.  Alec ran his hands up and down his lover’s body, delighting in the way Michael moved under his caresses.  After a few minutes of this, Michael said breathlessly, “If we keep this up, I won’t be good for anything else.  Do you still want to try the non-respectable way that the Greeks made love?”

            “Mm-hmm,” Alec said as he kissed his way along Michael’s jaw.

            “All right.  We need to change positions, then.”  Michael rolled off of Alec and sat up on his knees.  “I need you on your hands and knees in front of me.  This entry position is a bit awkward, but I think it’ll be the most comfortable for your first time.”

            Alec complied, and then sighed softly as Michael began to work oil into him.  He couldn’t help wriggling a little, trying to get the young man’s fingers in just the right spots. 

            “You are absolutely adorable when you squirm,” Michael said, reaching up with his free hand to tickle Alec on the underside of one cheek.  That resulted in a jerk and a yelp, and Michael fell to making anxious shushing noises.

            “I can’t help it—I’m ticklish there!” Alec whispered.

            “Then someday when we don’t have to be quiet, I will tickle your bottom until you scream,” Michael said.  “For now though—hush.”

            Once Alec was very well-lubricated, Michael set the oil back down on the floor.  He put his hands on Alec’s hips, and pulled him backward until the boy could feel the tip of Michael’s erection against his opening.  “All right,” Michael said.  “I want you to sit down slowly until I’m in you.  It’ll probably hurt at least a little, and the important thing to remember when it starts to sting is to stay as relaxed as you can.  That will keep you as comfortable as possible.  You can take your time, and it’s fine if you need to stop.  We can always make love some other way.”

            “All right,” Alec said, beginning to feel a little nervous.  He sat backward, and Michael held his cock steady until the tip was in him.  Pain blossomed inside him as he was penetrated, and it was only Michael’s soft sound of pleasure that convinced Alec to keep bearing down.  He splayed his legs a little more as he pressed back, and then his behind really started to burn. 

            Michael must have felt him tense up, because he ran his hands up and down Alec’s back and whispered, “Try to relax, love.  Remember to breathe.” 

            Alec did what he could to obey, but it hurt badly.  He was starting to think he would have to give up, when Michael reached around him and took Alec’s softening cock in his hand.  The young man began to stroke him, and the resulting pleasure helped combat the pain.  At last the spasm faded, and the burning sensation faded with it. 

            Alec was breathing shakily, and Michael stroked the front of his body from collarbones to groin with his free hand.  “My sweet, sweet boy,” he whispered.  Taking comfort in Michael’s touch, Alec leaned back again, and was rewarded with a quiet groan.  Michael pushed upward a bit, and then Alec could feel his lover’s pelvic bones against his backside.  “That’s it . . . my brave Alec,” Michael said, his voice gentle as a caress.  He tipped his hips up a few times and Alec could feel pressure deep inside him.  It felt good.

            “Lean forward a bit,” Michael said, giving him a tap on the hip.  He guided Alec up onto his hands and knees again, moving so as to stay hilt-deep in the boy the whole while.  “There we are.  Now I can thrust a little better.  I might hit your sweet spot more often if you put your head down against the mattress, though,” Michael suggested.

            Alec was all for having his sweet spot hit, and so complied, bending forward so that his bottom was in the air and his cheek was against the counterpane.  Michael began thrusting, his pelvis pressing into Alec’s behind at every stroke.  The boy wriggled around a bit until Michael was rubbing that delightful place inside him with every thrust.  Between that and Michael continuing to massage his cock, such intense waves of pleasure were washing over him that he knew he was about to start making noise.  “Pillow?” he asked, and Michael provided one.  The boy buried his face into the down-filled linen case, and began to cry out softly every time the tip of Michael’s cock went deep. 

            Michael chuckled and said, “I’m _so_ glad you’re enjoying this.”

            Alec nodded emphatically.  After a few all-too-brief minutes of being caressed in back and in front, the boy felt the delicious pressure of impending orgasm, and then the next thing he knew he was bucking, thrashing, yelling out into his pillow as ecstasy poured through him.  Michael had the self-control to come more quietly, which was just as well, since someone had thrown an object against the room’s neighboring wall during Alec’s paroxysm and shouted, “Shut up!”

            Michael withdrew from Alec’s body, leaving a dull ache behind.  The boy rolled over and Michael lay on top of him, and they kissed and ran their hands desperately over one another’s skin.  Alec’s heart was hammering hard, and he could feel Michael’s doing the same through the wall of his chest.  “I’m so in love with you,” Alec gasped.

            “And I’m in love with you,” Michael answered, holding him close. 

            Throughout the remainder of the night, they alternately dozed, talked of ancient Greece and Rome, Shakespeare, their families, and other things, and returned to making love.  

            Very early the following morning there came sounds from the adjoining rooms and the hallway, as boys got up to go pick May flowers for the saints’ day.  Michael stirred, kissed Alec’s cheek, and said, “I need to go before it gets light.” 

            Alec made a soft, dismayed noise and crushed his lover against him.  He knew Michael was right, however, and eventually he let go.  The young man got up and dressed by the dull orange glow of the nightlight.  Alec lay on his stomach with his head resting in his hands, his knees bent and his feet in the air.  “May I come see you this afternoon?” he asked, since it was Saturday.

            “Of course,” Michael said.  He bent over while buttoning his shirt and kissed Alec’s lips. 

            The boy made a soft longing sound and said, “I hate to see you go.”

            “And I hate to go, but you know I have to.”

            “I know,” Alec said unhappily.

            Michael finished dressing, and Alec got up to kiss him goodbye.  For a moment, they stood by the door, listening to boys’ footfalls and the slamming of doors.  For a long, anxious stretch, it appeared that there was never going to be an opportunity for Michael to leave unobserved, but at last the noises in the hallway ceased.

            Alec looked up at Michael and nodded.  The young man slipped the catch on the door and opened it—at the exact moment that Mrs. Detherage turned the corner from the stairway.  The redoubtable lady stopped dead in the hall, staring at Michael and the naked Alec standing behind him.  She put her fist to her mouth.

            “Mrs. Detherage, it’s not what--” Alec began.

            Then she screamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> Nox mihi prima venit! primae da tempora nocti!/ Longius in primo, Luna, morare toro -- "My first night is approaching! Alot more time for my first night!/ O Moon, dwell longer over our first union."  
> \--Propertius


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

           Two hours later Alec was in the library with his tutor, the rather feckless Waterbury, who was alternately fretting and taking sips from his flask of brandy.  He wouldn’t let Alec have any, much to the boy’s frustration. 

            “Perhaps it won’t be so bad,” Waterbury said.  “Perhaps it’ll just be a beating.  And of course we’ll have to find you somewhere else to stay, since Mrs. Detherage has thrown you out.  Your parents don’t necessarily need to know.  My God, I don’t know what I’ll say to your mother if you’re expelled . . .” Since Waterbury was at least nominally in charge of Alec while he was at school, any trouble the boy found himself in was theoretically the tutor’s fault. 

            Alec put up with the man’s monologue for as long as he could, before finally saying, “Do _shut up_ , Waterbury.”  None of this was Waterbury’s affair or his problem.  He could find himself another boy to tutor, if it came to that.  The people who were really in trouble were Alec and Michael, and it would be worse for Michael, who had no influential family to speak for him.  Alec tried to think of some way he could take the full blame for what had happened, because there was only so much harm that could befall the eldest son of a viscount.  The worst that could happen to him was that he’d be disinherited in favor of his little brother, and he doubted his father would do that no matter who was discovered in his bed.  Michael’s father, on the other hand, had nothing to leave to him, and few powerful connections to help shield him from the shock of scandal, not to mention the draconian sodomy laws. 

            When the stout, bewigged Headmaster Goodall finally entered the room, both Alec and Waterbury stood promptly, and Waterbury struggled to stash his flask back in his pocket.  “If you’ll permit me to explain, sir, none of what happened is Michael Overbrook’s fault,” Alec said.  “He didn’t want to go to bed with me.  I blackmailed him . . . I said that I’d tell everyone he’d assaulted me during one of my visits to his room.”

            Waterbury’s jaw dropped open in horror.  “ _Alexander!”_ he gasped.

            “It’s true,” insisted Alec.

            “Is it?” Goodall raised one graying eyebrow.  “Overbrook just got done telling me how he plied you with liquor until you were insensible of what you were doing, and then he seduced you.”

            “Well I . . . I told him to say that, sir.  But now I’ve changed my mind.  It’s not fair that he be punished for my wrongdoing,” Alec said.

            “I see,” Goodall said, sounding as if he didn’t believe Alec a bit.  “Perhaps the truth lies somewhere between and betwixt.  In any case, I think it best that you repair to your family in London for the time being.  With any luck, this will be a nine days’ wonder, and you can quietly return to school once the novelty of the gossip fades.”

            “You’re . . . not expelling me, sir?” Alec asked, deeply relieved for all that he wanted to accept Michael’s share of the blame. 

            “Should I expel you, confessed blackmailer that you are?”  The edges of the headmaster’s eyes crinkled in not-unkindly amusement as Alec tried to decide which way to twist. 

            “It’s both kind and just of you not to expel him, sir,” said Waterbury.  “After all, he’s just a boy.  _Sunt pueri pueri, pueri puerilia tractant._ ”

            “That fact has not escaped me, Mr. Waterbury,” said Goodall.  “Nor has the fact that Stuart here is sixteen years old, while Overbrook is three-and-twenty.  Despite their mutual attempts to fall on their own swords for one another, I deem Overbrook the more culpable.”

            “It’s not his fault, sir!” Alec exclaimed, desperate to say the right thing to get Michael out of trouble.

            “Michael Overbrook is not under my jurisdiction, young man,” Goodall said.  “He’s a private tutor engaged by the Pouncey family.  Whether I consider him guilty or innocent is frankly immaterial.”

            “But they’ll sack him,” Alec protested.  “You could tell them--”

            “I will do no such thing,” Goodall said firmly.  “I do not intend to intervene between Overbrook and his employers in any way.  And as for you, I suggest you head out at once.  You have no place to stay tonight in Eton, and if you meet up with boys who have just heard the rumors, they might not be kind.  If you take the first downriver boat, you should make London in time to have supper at home.”

            Waterbury put his hand on Alec’s shoulder and nudged him toward the door.  “Come along, then, Alec.  We don’t want to antagonize your headmaster.”

            “Sir, please,” Alec begged.

            “Out, Stuart,” Goodall said, pointing to the door.  “I hope to see you return under better circumstances than those under which you are leaving.”

            Not knowing what else to do, Alec allowed Waterbury to half-push him out the door.

            Alec’s homecoming was nothing short of a disaster.  When he entered the house, he met his mother and eldest two sisters on the stairs, dressed for an evening out and escorted by Alec’s cousin Reginald.  His mother’s eyes went wide as soon as she saw the servants carrying in Alec’s baggage, and she demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”  As usual, she seemed to expect the worst from him.  It was unfortunate that in this case, the worst was more or less true. 

            “I’ll tell you later, Mother,” Alec said, and tried to edge past her on the stairs.

            She grabbed him by the back of the collar, turned him around, and insisted, “You’ll not run away from me!  What are you doing here with all your things?  You’ve been expelled, haven’t you?  Tell me—what have you done?”

            “I haven’t been expelled!” Alec said, trying to wrest himself out of her grip.

            “Lady Foxford, if I might,” Waterbury began timidly.  “The boy hasn’t been expelled.  The headmaster simply thought that a short time away from the college would be beneficial . . .”

            “What have you done?” Alec’s mother repeated, and she boxed his ears.  “You’ve been sent down from school for drunkenness, haven’t you?”

            Ever after, Alec regretted not simply telling her “yes.”  She would have believed it, and it would have been preferable to telling her the truth.  In the moment, however, with his ears smarting, all he could think to do was say, “I wasn’t!”

            “Little liar!” his mother said, and slapped him again. 

            “I’m not lying!  It wasn’t for drunkenness.  I slept with a boy.”

            What followed was like the silence after a lightning flash, before the thunder comes.  Alec’s mother’s mouth opened, and her face drained of color.  Alec’s sister Penelope either fainted or did a good approximation of it.  Reginald caught her, looking bewildered by the entire scene.  Alec’s sister Helen looked as if she were considering a faint, but as there was no one to catch her, she remained on her feet, appearing a bit disappointed. 

            Sensing what would come next, Alec flinched, but not fast enough to avoid a slap so hard it buffeted him against the wall.  “How dare you say such a thing?” his mother cried.  “Filthy creature!  You’re as bad as that uncle of yours!”  She went after him again, but this time he succeeded in dodging.

            “You asked!” Alec protested.

            “Lady Foxford . . . Lady Foxford, please!  Look to Miss Stuart’s health,” Waterbury exclaimed, wringing his thin hands.  

            “Yes, Auntie Clara, poor Penny’s nerves can’t take it,” Reginald said, still supporting Alec’s sister in her graceful faint.

            Alec knew perfectly well that there was nothing wrong with Penelope that copious amounts of attention wouldn’t cure, but he was happy to deflect his mother’s attention onto her.  “Think of the girls,” he said, leaning against the wall and looking for any avenue of escape. 

            At that moment, Uncle Diogenes strolled out of the parlor in an Oriental silk dressing gown, redolent of kif and frankincense.  “He said he slept with a boy, Clara, not that he killed one and buried him under your flower bed.”

            “This is all due to your influence!  I’ll thank you to stop meddling in my family’s affairs.  You’ve done quite enough,” said Alec’s mother.

            “I suppose if you want to beat the boy senseless while your elder daughter lies in a faint, that’s up to you.  You are, after all, a mother of excellent judgment,” Diogenes said with a shrug. 

            Alec’s mother drew breath to rail at her brother-in-law, and while her attention was diverted, the boy seized his chance and fled up to his bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him.  He heard her calling his name after him, but he didn’t reply. 

            After much shouting, during which his mother vacillated between announcing that she was too upset to go out and announcing she was too upset to stay home, the unhappy visiting party finally left, and Alec crept from his room.  He slipped into his parents’ bedroom, took the crystal decanter of sherry from the mantelpiece, and proceeded to get extremely drunk on the contents.  He then sat at the top of the stairs with his violin and played mournful selections from Mozart and various of the sadder Irish airs. 

            Waterbury attempted to confront him, standing at the foot of the stairs and saying, “You’re drunk, aren’t you?  You never should have gotten drunk, Alec.  I expect your mother will order me to thrash you when she gets home.”  With Alec’s father remaining in Ireland, Waterbury was pressed into somewhat-inadequate service as Alec’s disciplinarian. 

            The boy just played louder until his tutor went away. 

            Alec did expect to be beaten when his mother got home, but she apparently decided that it would be more devastating for her to cut him completely.  Both she and his sisters studiously pretended he wasn’t there the next afternoon at lunch—Alec having slept through breakfast. 

            The silent treatment continued over the next several days, and extended even to Alec’s seven-year-old brother, Galen.  More than once, Alec heard the child’s nurse dragging him away from his bedroom door while the little boy cried out, “Why can’t I talk to Alec?  I want to see Alec!”  Alec didn’t mind being ignored by his mother and Penelope so much, but getting nothing but silence from his littler siblings hurt. 

            Alec, for his part, stayed very drunk.  One afternoon as he sat slouched in the parlor, toying idly with an O'Carolan composition, his uncle walked in and sat down opposite him.  “So,” said Diogenes, “what do you plan to do after you’ve drunk all your father’s sherry?”

            “Start in on the brandy, I suppose,” Alec said. 

            “I see.  And you expect to return to school when?”

            “I don’t know.  Goodall didn’t give me a date to return.  I suppose someone ought to write to him and ask about that,” Alec said with a shrug.

            “I suppose someone should.”  After a moment Diogenes dug in his coat’s inner pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper, which he tossed at Alec.  It landed in his lap.

            “What’s this?” Alec asked, and set his violin aside. 

            “It appears to be a letter,” said Diogenes dryly.  “It was entrusted to me this morning.  From your friend, I believe.”

            “You’ve seen him?” Alec said, sitting up, suddenly alert. 

            “I’ve corresponded with him,” Diogenes said with a wave, as if it were of no great importance.  “He’s evidently sent several letters to the house, but I believe your mother has been intercepting them.”

            Anger welled up in Alec, and he repressed an urge to get up at once and go confront his mother on the matter.  It was only the knowledge that it wouldn’t do any good that stayed him--that, and the fact that she still wasn’t speaking to him.  He broke open the seal and found that the letter was written in Latin, done in Michael’s beautiful script.  It read:

            “Beloved,

            I have spoken with your uncle today, and he is of the belief that you haven’t been receiving my letters.  I can’t help but hope that this is true, and that you haven’t forborne to write me because you have forgotten me.  And yet, perhaps forgetting me would be best!  It hurts my heart to think that I have put your future in jeopardy. 

            As for my own future, it appears somewhat brighter than when last I wrote you.  Your kind uncle tells me that the Foreign Service in India are in need of young men with few family attachments who have a facility with languages.  He has written me a letter of introduction to the Governor General, recommending me for the position of clerk, and provided me with such funds as I may need to start a new life abroad.  The condition of his help is that I leave immediately upon the next packet ship, which departs the London docks this coming Thursday. 

            I am currently staying in the George Inn in Borough High Street, Southwark.  I would dearly love to say goodbye to you in person, but of course I will understand if you do not desire this. 

            ‘True love will hold on to those whom it has held.’

            Your own,

            Michael”

            “He’s leaving?” Alec said, looking up from the letter in alarm.

            “Did you think he could stay in England and continue to work as a boys’ tutor, after what happened?” Diogenes asked.  “Better for him to start over somewhere else, particularly since I don’t believe his prospects here were terribly bright to begin with.”

            “You’re sending him away.  Because of me,” Alec said, folding the letter between trembling fingertips.

            “Dear boy, I am rescuing him because of you.  There are those—even among the discerning souls who don’t regard male love with reflexive horror—who would consider Overbrook a sort of predator for using his position to meet and seduce a young boy.  For your sake, I give him the benefit of the doubt.  I should say that profuse thanks are in order.”

            Alec was about to protest that Michael was no predator and that their relationship hadn’t developed in an exploitative way at all, but he closed his mouth as he realized Diogenes had only the word of a love-besotted sixteen-year-old as to that fact.  He could see how his uncle, and others, would look at Michael askance.  He supposed Diogenes was right that he should be grateful for any help at all, considering.  “Thank you,” Alec said quietly.  “It’s good of you to help Michael find a position.”

            “Yes, it is,” Diogenes agreed, “and you are welcome.”

            Feeling numbed by the knowledge that Michael would be leaving the country so soon, Alec rose and left the room, taking his violin with him.  As soon as he was back in his room, he began making plans to meet Michael at the George.  It was already Tuesday afternoon, so he knew he’d have to plan fast.

            Twenty-four hours later, he slipped out of the house with his violin, a flask of brandy, and money he’d pilfered out of the housekeeper’s box in the kitchen.  He walked across the bridge into Southwark, and from there to the George Inn.  The inn was a great white galleried edifice with a sign depicting St. George slaying a dragon.  Alec went to find the innkeeper to inquire about Michael, only to hear Michael’s voice in the first-floor coffee room. 

            Alec was flooded with joy that he’d found his lover and that he wasn’t too late.  He worked his way through a throng of people standing with their luggage in the main passageway and entered the coffee room.  Michael was there, in his slightly-tatty blue coat and buff trousers.  He was facing away from Alec, talking to a couple of other men, and so Alec was able to walk up quietly behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

            Michael turned, and Alec saw his own happiness echoed on the young man’s face.  Michael got up and they embraced.  They could not kiss because of the onlookers, but Alec put his head down on Michael’s shoulder and Michael rocked him for a moment.  When they separated, Michael said, “I was afraid you wouldn’t get my letter.”

            “My mother’s been throwing them away,” Alec said, his voice clipped with anger.  “My uncle gave me your last one.”

            “Bless your uncle!” Michael said.  “I’m glad that there’s somebody who understands.”

            “I’m not sure how much he understands.  He’s sending you to India,” Alec said.

            Michael’s face saddened.  “It’s not what I wanted to have happen, but under the circumstances, I think it’s the best choice I have.”

            “I don’t want you to go,” Alec said, tears starting to prickle in his eyes.

            Michael put his hand on Alec’s shoulder, and said gently, “Let’s go upstairs.”

            Alec followed Michael up to the third floor, where he had a room.  As soon as the door was closed, they started kissing fiercely, Alec leaning his back against the door and Michael bending down to him.  When Michael finally disengaged to gaze into Alec’s eyes, the boy said, “Please don’t go.”

            “I have to,” Michael said, softening his painful words by cupping the side of Alec’s face with his hand.  “I was helping support my sister with what little I was making tutoring the Pounceys.  She needs me to work, and in India I can make enough to send the extra home to her.”

            “This is all my fault,” Alec said wretchedly.  “It was my idea to have you stay the night at Mrs. Detherage’s . . .”

            “And my idea to agree to do it,” Michael said.  “Don’t blame yourself, love.  In all probability, somebody would have found out sooner or later.”

            Desperate to not have to say goodbye, Alec hugged Michael close, and the young man reached up to stroke his hair.  “Maybe it’s not forever,” Michael said.  “Maybe one day, somehow . . .”

            Alec clung to those words as he kissed his lover.  As he sucked gently at Michael’s lips, the boy struggled to memorize what it felt like to kiss him, what Michael smelled like, the feel of Michael’s arms around his body.  After some time, Michael stepped back and took Alec’s hands, drawing him over toward the bed.  “Can you stay a while?”

            “I’ll stay until you have to go,” Alec said.

            “All night?  Won’t that get you into trouble with your family?” Michael frowned.

            “Not any more than I already am.  My mother isn’t speaking to me.”

            “My poor boy . . .” Michael pulled him close again and held him.

            “It’s all right,” Alec said, half into his shoulder.  “She never has anything nice to say to me anyway.”

            “Then I’ll say nice things to you.  Sweet Alec . . . lovely Alec . . .”

            They spent the afternoon making love, then dressed, went downstairs for a plain but passable dinner, and then went upstairs to make love again.  That night Alec dozed on and off in Michael’s arms, waking with a start several times and looking out the window for traces of the dawn light he dreaded.  Again and again, Michael stroked his hair and soothed him back to sleep.  Alec wasn’t sure if Michael slept at all.

            Despite Alec’s fervent prayers, morning finally came.  Michael pinched the boy’s bottom when he deliberately dawdled in getting ready for breakfast, and Alec laughed and finally put on his trousers.  Breakfast passed in something of a blur.  Alec thought he knew how the condemned must feel during their last meals.  He was aware of every bite, and at the same time he was conscious of time rushing by him.  Michael spoke with what Alec suspected was false gaiety about the things he hoped to see in India, and how he promised to write Alec about them.  It was all Alec could do not to catch up Michael’s hand from around his fork and tenderly kiss his fingers, to draw Michael’s face to him and kiss his lips.  He mentally cursed the mores of a country that insisted men keep a dignified distance from each other. 

            They took advantage of what little closeness was allowed and walked arm and arm down to the docks, where the packet ship _Nancy_ was waiting.  Alec took several slugs of his stolen brandy on the way, but Michael refused.  The _Nancy_ was small and cramped, and as soon as Alec was aboard the bobbing deck made him slightly seasick.  For a moment, there was naked despair in Michael’s eyes as he looked around the ship that would be his home for the next several weeks. 

            “You’ll come back,” Alec assured him.  Stealthily, he took Michael’s hand and pressed it.  “Someday you’ll be able to come back, and we’ll see each other again.”

            “Of course,” Michael said with a forced brightness.  He looked fondly down at Alec, and the boy thought his lover would have kissed him if England’s social laws hadn’t forbidden it.  They brought Michael’s small amount of baggage down to the cramped steerage area and set it on a bunk.  The place stank of mildew.  Other men, and here and there a woman, were likewise milling about and claiming bunks as their own. 

            The thought of sailing to India under such conditions horrified Alec, and by the look on Michael’s face, he was frightened too.  Suddenly he turned to Alec and said, “Play for me.  Play _Spring_ , the way you did when you first came to visit me.”

            Alec sat down on the bunk and took out his violin, which had slipped slightly out of tune in the damp salt air.  He rectified the tuning and then started in on the opening bars of _Spring._   Before long, other passengers had gathered around, and one or two called out requests for various popular songs.  Alec indulged them, and for three-quarters of an hour played with all his heart, to lift his own spirits and those of his listeners.  Michael sat next to him, smiling proudly.

            Eventually there came quite a lot of shouting and re-shouting of orders from the hands up on deck, and Michael said, “We’d better get you back on shore.  I think they’re about to cast off.”

            Alec followed him reluctantly up the ladder to the weather deck, and from there to the gangplank.  Michael rested his hands on Alec’s shoulders and gazed down at him.  There was the glint of tears in his clear blue eyes.  “Goodbye, my love,” he said softly.

            Alec took a breath to reply, but it caught in his throat.  As hot tears began to spill down his cheeks, he stood on his toes, stole a last, breathless kiss, and then turned and bolted down the gangplank. 

            Dejectedly, he returned to the George, where he proceeded to get extremely drunk and then to sit on a table and play ballads.  As evening drew on, he started running out of money, so he took the last of what he had to hire a cab home, because he was quite beyond walking. 

            It was dark by the time he reached the Stuart townhouse, and lights had been kindled in the tall, narrow windows.  As Alec staggered up the steps and into the house, Penelope caught sight of him and called out, “Mother!  Alec’s home!”

            “Did you have to tell her?” Alec asked unhappily.  She stuck her tongue out at him. 

            Then Lady Foxford came sweeping to the top of the stairs and glared down at her son.  “You look lovely this evening, Mother.  _En ta beauté gît ma mort et ma vie,”_ Alec said, and bowed a bit woozily.

            “Waterbury!” his mother shouted, in a tone that made it clear that she wanted Alec beaten. 

            On her orders, Waterbury administered an uncharacteristically ferocious caning that left Alec sobbing, half-collapsed against the chair he’d been bent over.  Once the tutor was finally done with him, Alec stood up painfully, righted his clothes with what dignity he could muster, and went to his bed, where he curled up with his face to the wall. 

            Some time later a knock came at the door.  “Leave me alone,” the boy said. 

            The door opened anyway.  “It’s just me,” called his sister Helen.  He heard her light tread cross the floor, and then his bed dipped as she sat down on it.  “You’ve been crying for almost an hour.  Did Waterbury beat you that badly?” the girl asked.

            Alec shook his head.  “I miss Michael.”

            “Who’s Michael?” asked Helen.  Then realization seemed to dawn as she said, “Oh.  _Oh._ ”  An awkward silence followed.  “Are you really in love with him?” she asked at last.

            Alec nodded.

            “How does that—how can a man fall in love with another man?  They can never get married, and they certainly can’t have children together,” Helen said.

            “People don’t have to be married to be in love,” Alec pointed out.  “I fell in love with a man just like you’d fall in love with a man.”

            “I’ve never fallen in love with anyone,” she said.

            Touched by the reminder of his little sister’s innocence, Alec turned over to face her, and took her hand in his.  “Be grateful then, Nellie.”

            “Oh, I am.  Nothing good ever seems to come of falling in love,” she said.  Then, as if to cheer him up, she said, “Mama says we’re allowed to speak to you now.”

            “ _Mama pedicanda est._ ”

            “You know she’ll only have you beaten again if she finds out you’re calling her names,” Helen said.

            Alec made an angry, noncommittal noise.

            “I overheard Uncle Diogenes say that Mr. Goodall says you can come back to school for Michaelmas term,” Helen said.

            “Ah, good.  Just what I wanted,” Alec said.  School would be a lonely, empty place without Michael, but spending the summer with his mother didn’t seem like much of an improvement. 

            “There must be _something_ I can say to make you feel better,” Helen said, sounding frustrated.

            “Sweet sister, just the fact that you’d try is helpful,” Alec said, repenting of being such a grouch to her.  He lifted her knuckles to his lips.  “And if you really want to make me feel better . . . tell me that someday, Michael and I will see each other again.”

            “Well, maybe someday you could,” she said.  “Maybe when you’re grown up and graduated from university, you could go to India.  Or maybe he’ll come home.”

            “Maybe so,” Alec said, holding onto that ‘maybe’ until it felt like a certainty.  He needed it to be a certainty.  Feeling somewhat comforted, he said, “I think I’ll sleep for a while now.”

            “All right,” said Helen, getting up.  “I hope you feel better soon.”

            “Thank you, _carissima mea_.” 

            Shutting his eyes, he dozed.  He dreamed of Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> Sunt pueri pueri, pueri puerilia tractant -- "Children are children, (therefore) children do childish things."
> 
> En ta beauté gît ma mort et ma vie -- "In your beauty rests (both) my death and my life."
> 
> Mama pedicanda est -- "Mama should get fucked in the ass." (Naughty Alec!) :p
> 
> Carissima mea -- "My dearest"

**Author's Note:**

> Propino tibi salutem -- I drink to your health!


End file.
